


Does it Mean the Same to You?

by NewAgeVintage



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Angst and fluff is what we do, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Minor apperences by Hank and Dean, some mention of Pete/billy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 15:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15933263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewAgeVintage/pseuds/NewAgeVintage
Summary: Rusty may not be the worlds greatest super scientist, but he’s always put his theories to the test. Rusty is Depressed and off the wagon after dealing with the P.R.O.B.L.E.M, Brock intervenes and ends up dealing with thoughts and feelings he has previously refused to name.





	Does it Mean the Same to You?

**Author's Note:**

> Big ol spoilers for the first three episodes of season 7. I’ve been in Brock/Rusty hell for the past week and recently did a full series rewatch so I had to write something. Beta’d by my delightful buddy Ferg.

Rusty Venture has always been a man of science. And a true scientist knows that you can’t draw conclusions without running a few tests. As a child, this manifested as mixing together dish soap and toothpaste to figure out if you could brush your teeth and do the dishes at the same time (you can, but it isn’t pleasant). As a teenager, he tested how long he could get away with sticking the dog in his learning bed to sneak out (until his father scolded him for his poor grades or until Scamp pissed on his mattress, whichever came first). However, in college, his experiments tended to be more socially oriented-- how quickly could he piss off that weird butterfly guy, and how much did it take to get him to screech in the middle of the classroom and be asked to leave? What outfit could he wear that fit his sensibilities but also didn’t make others snicker at him? The biggest theory he tested revolved around sexuality.

Growing up, Rusty was surrounded by macho men and glamorous women. The primary order of things involved displays of masculinity to sweep a woman off of her feet. There were exceptions to this, of course, but they were often badmouthed by his father, or ignored-- like homosexuality and gender nonconformity was something to be swept under the rug. Even if these outliers were treated equally, Rusty still didn’t fit the mold. Lanky and long haired, as a young adult, he looked nothing like the group he was supposed to aspire to join.

With absolutely nothing to reference in regards to his looks and shortcomings, Rusty was a blank slate-- And he invited in anyone willing to help draw out the figures and conduct research.

Pete White was a willing partner in his experiments, but was also overly chatty and struck Rusty as too needy of a partner. Many nights were spent on the bunk below Brock Samson trying to figure out if he was jealous of Brock, or the cheerleader he brought home for the night. The idea of the anger fueled sex that could be had with Malcolm, that butterfly obsessed guy who seemed to be equally obsessed with Rusty, was tempting but too much of a hassle to bother with.

Of course, occasional trips to certain clubs and bars would sometimes pan out in his favor, but over all his findings simply stated: No one wants to have sex with Rusty Venture.

Now, unhappily middle aged with children, his college findings still weigh on the back of his mind. Sure, he had to do the deed to have kids, and there was the rare drunken fumbling with his old college buddy Pete (which finally stopped all together once he and Billy had an actual conversation about their future). Rusty was left alone and celibate.

Brock was a constant reminder of how desperate for touch Rusty was: A gorgeous man dedicated to protect him, the same kind of guy that gave Rusty confusing dreams as a teenager. When Brock first came back into his life, Rusty tried to be calm and collected, attempting to impress the man with the "Venture Legacy." This obviously didn’t work; being strung out on ‘diet pills’ and PTSD made Rusty a very easy to read book.

By the time the boys were toddlers, Rusty gave up the facade all together. Brock didn’t show any interest outside of his duties and caring for the kids. The stream of women that Brock brought home (or went out to see) was enough discouragement for Rusty to give up on any chance at lust or romance between them.

Years continued to pass, and Rusty became comfortable-- Brock knew almost everything about him. Brock was there to scoop him up and drop him into bed when he was too drunk to walk. Brock was there to make sure the kids were safe. Brock was there, and that was a constant that Rusty could rely on. Until he left, and suddenly Rusty realized just how large of a spot the man had claimed in his heart.

When Brock resurfaced as a part of Sphinx and started to be casually involved in the family again, Rusty tried to imagine things had gone back to normal. Sure Hatred was his bodyguard, but Brock still came over for breakfast and sat and watched movies with Rusty on his nights off. However, now, instead of being assigned to the Ventures, he was doing this in his own free time. Rusty felt wanted.

Things continued as normally as they could, until Sphinx dissolved and Brock went back to the OSI, now further away than ever. When the move to New York came around, Rusty found himself fretting leaving the compound, as if it was the building that drew Brock to them.

When Brock walked out of the elevator into their new home, it took a lot for Rusty to stay composed. Brock was back, he was back in his life, and he was there to protect him and be there for him. He ignored the fact that this was just because Brock had gotten his name as an assignment once more.

Things went back to normal as much as they could, and as close to normal as the Venture family could get. Rusty had money and equipment to play with, the boys had their respective interests to pursue, and Brock had high level villain skulls to cave in... And then there was the P.R.O.B.L.E.M.

——-

Rusty Venture was back on his shit. Docktails became an all day affair, and equipment that could synthesize just about anything was put to use.

It was one thing for Brock to protect Rusty from supervillians, but a completely different game to protect him from himself. Hiding the booze and pills was easy, but Rusty had gotten good at finding replacements quickly-- especially since money wasn’t an issue and the boys were mostly out of the house.

It was, unfortunately, time for an intervention.

Rusty was out on the patio, slightly leaning over the edge and glaring at the city below them. He carried himself like a man with half control over his body. Brock approached him and sighed loudly enough to get his attention before lighting a cigarette. “So... we’re doing this shit again, Doc?” Brock didn’t make any attempt to get Rusty to step away from the edge, but he did position himself next to him and place a reassuring hand on his back. Rusty’s shoulders relaxed and he leaned back into the large, attentive hand, and away from the ledge.

“Ya know Doc, you spent this entire time thinking he was gone and were doing okay. Now you know he’s gone... and that's not a reason to throw yourself off the wagon.” Rusty rolls his eyes and scoffs at the attempt at reassurance. Can’t he see that this isn’t just about his father. Anytime something is in his grasp it’s ripped away completely before he can actually enjoy it.

Rusty closed his eyes, not wanting to look directly at Brock, he was Icarus and Brock the sun. “You know Brock, I AM used to not having a father. I’m absolutely used to people around me just dying or leaving. You’re right--” His tone started to grow louder and shaky, “--Why should another important person in my life abandoning me make me upset? It’s only my dad, how dare I have feelings.” Rusty’s voice cracked on the word dad.

Brock started rubbing his hand in circles on Rusty’s back, trying to be soothing. “Doc, ya know that’s not what I mean.”

Rusty turned away from his body guard, breaking contact. “Of course it’s not what you meant! But god, do you hear yourself? I get it, Brock, I’m ‘off the wagon’ again! Oh, boo fucking hoo!” Tears started to well in the corners of his eyes, and he was practically flailing his arms with wild gesticulation as he spoke. “But it’s all the damn same! I never get to choose the people in my life, and then they all just, POOF, disappear whenever they damn please!”

This obviously wasn’t about his father anymore. This was about Brock, about the boys growing up, about life changing. His father's brief reemergence was just the trigger for pent up feelings. Rusty’s panicked ranting dissolved into upset yelling. “Even you left me, Brock... And the only reason you're back is that this is a fucking job to you. I’m surprised you don’t want me to just throw myself over this damn ledge so you can go back to playing secret agent!”

As if to make a point, Rusty tried to climb up on the railing of the deck. He was drunk and doesn’t have the fine motor skills to actually hoist himself up. Even if he did have the ability to hurl himself over the edge, Brock stopped him, grabbing the collar of his speed suit and pulling him back. Rusty shoved him away and retreated to a deck chair.

The display of absolutely childlike misery set Brock off and he followed Rusty, yelling at the man walking away from him, “Oh of fucking course, Doc. This is all so hard for you, just you. Not the boys, not me, not for every friend you have that you refuse to speak too! I did fucking leave! I had to leave, I couldn’t fucking do it anymore! You survived!”

Brock calmed his tone and sat next to Rusty. “Damn it, Doc. You have no idea how happy I was to get reassigned to you and the boys. I spent almost 20 damn years with you! You’re my damn family!”

Now it was Brock’s turn to awkwardly avoid eye contact. Rusty wiped the tears from his eyes and looked at the man sworn to protect him, the man that WANTED to protect him. He scooted closer and leaned his head against a muscled shoulder.

“I had to leave, I didn’t know how to handle all of this,” Brock gestured to Rusty and the building around them, “You’re fucked up, Doc.” Rusty laughs. “You’re fucked up, and it took me leaving to realize that despite that, I care. It was hard seeing you and the boys and not being able to do or say anything. If I stayed I would have lost it.”

Rusty leaned against Brock more firmly, placing all of his weight against him, both of them still avoiding eye contact. “I get it Brock. I do, but I don’t get to run away from Rusty Venture. I have to live this.”

Brock looked down at the sad, drunk man that he would die for, and struggled to name the feeling he got. Strange admiration? A want to protect and save? It was the feeling of a family bond that had existed for almost two decades twisting in his gut begging him to name it. Thankfully, Rusty was much more well equipped to act on feeling.

Rusty Venture stood up, wobbled a bit, and faced Brock. He placed slim hands on wide shoulders and forced eye contact. “Did you really want to come back?”

“Of course Doc, you and the boys are my family.”

Rusty exhaled.“Thank fucking god.” With with that reassurance from Brock, Rusty was brave, and he was going to rely on the alcohol remaining in his system to keep him that way. He dug his fingers into Brocks T-shirt and kissed him.

Brock did not move. He did not push Rusty away. He did not pull him closer. He simply gasped into the kiss and let it happen. After a long few seconds, Rusty pulled away, stood up straight, muttered ‘oh fuck’ and practically bolted into the house.

Brock still did not move. He sat on the pool chair, eyes wide and mind running. He was never one to even attempt to examine his sexuality. That was always a taboo that lived in the back of his mind. His fling with Warriana was hard enough on his locked up desires, but this was a completely new concept. He sat and chain smoked for another 30 minutes before he retreated back inside.

Rusty was sitting on the sofa with a bottle of Kahlua. It was dangerously empty and he was dangerously drunk. When Brock walked in, Rusty attempted to leave, but was stopped.

“Wait.”

Rusty sits back down and waited, obedient and on edge. “Brock, I can explain…” he trailed off before holding up the bottle, “Uh, I’m just drunk. That’s it. Whoops! Sorry good ol’ Thaddeus S. Venture partied a lil to hard” he laughed harshly, not even a little convincing.

Brock sat next to him on the couch and grabbed the bottle. He chugged the remaining alcohol and kissed Rusty. “Fuck, we'll just explain it in the morning.”

—

Hank came home to find Brock and his pop half naked on the sofa with empty bottles on the coffee table.

He yelled loud enough to wake them both up, “FINALLY!

__

Brock handled the following week poorly, but with more dignity than Rusty. He took every precaution to avoid being alone with Rusty, and Rusty did everything in his power to get Brock alone. It was tense and the boys were not helping. Dean and Hank had taken it upon themselves to start calling Brock ‘dad’ and at one point Dean asked if this meant they were getting married.

Finally after days of being avoided, Rusty got Brock alone in the living room. He had come upstairs from the lab to find Brock watching a movie on the sofa. As he went to sit Brock stood to leave. Sighing loudly, Rusty practically threw himself onto the couch, “I just want to talk, you know.” Brock sat back down.

“I know you’re the big macho ladies man and all that horse shit, but you’re killing me with this avoidance nonsense. You can’t just talk about how you care and we’re your family and let me suck your dick then turn around and act like nothing happened!”

Brock remained silent and tense.

“You can’t just keep ignoring me and the boys. Dean's trying to pick out wedding colors for Christ's sake! And you haven’t spoken more than a sentence to me in days.” Rusty let himself sink into the couch, “I need to at least know what to tell the boys.”

Brock lit a cigarette despite being inside, and Rusty let him, rolling his eyes but saying nothing. After a long minute of silence, Brock stood back up and retreated outside. “You could at least talk to me, Brock!”, but the patio door was already shut.

Shoreleave saw his phone light up--his caller ID displaying ‘Blond Ron Jeremy’. He answered the call, “Hey Brocko, how’s babysitting life treating you?” Brock didn't hesitate. “Uh, hey Shoreleave. I have a question.”

 

“Oooh so serious, ask away, Brockinator.”

 

“It’s about Doc-“ Shoreleave cut him off before he could actually ask the question.

 

“Oh honey! Finally! So what happened, did you get a little tipsy and give him what he’s been after for years? --And let me guess, now you’re all confused about your feelings and your big hetero ego?”

Brock almost disconnected the call on the spot, but he reached out to Shoreleave for a reason. He may be overly straight forward, but he is good at reading a situation. “Uh, I don’t know about years, bu-“

“DECADES, BROCK! That sleazy little man has been after your dick for DECADES, Brock. But ooh my god, you did you actually did it... Listen, I’m not going to tell you what to do, that wouldn’t be any fun,” Shoreleave laughed and Brock frowned, “But don’t you deserve to do what makes you happy?”

The line was silent for a moment. “Don’t think so hard Brock, do what you want to do.” And then Shoreleave disconnected.

When Brock finally went back inside, Rusty had a drink in his hands and his pupils were pin point small. He turned to look up from the couch as the door opened, and immediately looked back to the TV.

 

“Doc, you’re high”

 

“Yes, and...?”

 

Brock sat on the opposite end of the couch from Rusty.

“Look, Doc, I’m sorry.” Rusty glanced over and raised an eyebrow, “I uh, don’t know how to deal with this. You are my family, but I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Rusty was staring intently, waiting for Brock to get to the meat of the matter.

“I don’t, uh... date people” the word date is strained, “let alone, well, ya know, dudes… Even if I want too.”

And with that Brock stood and paced over to Rusty, trying to get through this on pure adrenaline. All of these concepts were so foreign to him and even recognizing the idea that maybe he does want to settle down in some way was enough to put him on edge. He stood in front of Rusty and leaned forward, one hand braced on the back of the couch and the other hovering awkwardly by Rusty’s shoulder.

Rusty laughed, shrill and nervous. “Well, uh, what do you want, Brock?”

Brock didn't have the words to say what he wanted, but he knew the actions. His hand rested on Rusty’s cheek and he leaned forward, kissing him. It was a surprisingly chaste kiss, more feeling and less heat than their previous encounter. Rusty closed his eyes and leaned into the large hand still resting on his face. When Brock pulled away Rusty’s eyes were still closed and he had a goofy grin on his face.

Brock kissed him again, longer and with more feeling, pressing Rusty into the couch. Small hands dug into Brocks shoulders and Rusty moaned against his lips. After what felt like days pass they pull apart and Brock sat down next to Rusty, pressing his shoulder against his.

“I care, Doc. I swear I fucking care, I just… this is all new to me. I don’t know how to, well, uh... date someone.”

Rusty laughed, louder than he intended to, “Date? Brock we have a weekly movie night and you bring me my coffee in bed. We eat practically every meal together, Hell we’ve raised children! You don’t need to change any of that, I just… well…” It wass Rusty’s turn to be timid, “I just want to know that it means the same to you that it does to me.”

Brock blinked, reviewing their life with each other and putting the pieces together. “Of course it does.”

 

Life changed, but only slightly. Brock still brought Rusty’s coffee upstairs in the morning, but now he also brought his own cup of coffee to their bedroom. Brock’s hand tended to linger on the small of Rusty’s back, even in public. Rusty relaxed, more content than normal and strengthened by the fact that he is wanted.

It didn’t take long for the people around them to pick up on the slight change in dynamic. Pete and Billy bought Rusty a cake with ‘Congrats on the sex’ spelled out in icing. The boys happily accepted this new development, excited about the way it changed their parents for the better. Money changed hands at the OSI headquarters as bets were won and lost.

Life was still full of people dressed as butterflies trying to murder them and the stress of inheriting a multibillion dollar company, but everything was okay..


End file.
